


A Matter of Chance

by girldetective



Category: Fleabag (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 09:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girldetective/pseuds/girldetective
Summary: Fleabag, but if Fleabag were Sherlock, and the Priest was Moriarty, but like also make it a Jane Austen AU.





	A Matter of Chance

HEADLINE: LORD'S DAUGHTER THWARTS MURDEROUS DRUG RING

* * *

Dearest Boo,

I write to you as my Godmother is screaming downstairs. I will never call her Stepmother, even as she exerts such undue influence on my family and life. You would think that my father and Godmother would be proud that their family's youngest daughter helped topple a drug smuggling plot. But no, they will only complain about the death of that henchman. The man tried to kill me! Naturally I defended myself. 

But my Godmother demands that we let a house in the country to escape the scandal, and my father seems inclined to go along with it. "My darling," He said to me. "It's become clear to me that your very life is in danger. I've always given you leave to pursue your hobbies, but this takes it a bit far. Trust your stepmother on these matters...she has, er, experience in escaping scandals." 

And so we will make our way out to Heatherfields soon and my heart is broken. I know you must stay in London with your husband. What will I do without you? Without our work? But my father's words have given me an idea. I will elaborate in my evening letter to you.

* * *

Dearest Boo, 

It is lucky that we have devised a cipher between us. It would be inconvenient for our correspondence to fall into the wrong hands. Especially now that we are plotting between us, rather than trying to thwart the plots of others. Nevertheless, please destroy this letter, and all subsequent letters from me, after you've read and responded to them. What is the one thing we know about my godmother? She has a history of running from scandal. If we make her infamous in the countryside, she will be forced to quit Heatherfields and return our family to my beloved London, which blessedly has a bit more breathing room for those of us who wish to study the demimonde. I must return soon!

As a woman of science and deduction, I used last night's dinner to test my most promising theory. The tests I ran unfortunately necessitated-- ugh-- socializing with the local gossips.

"It was so kind of Mrs. Fenton to visit us after the shabby way you've treated her lovely and charming daughters." My Godmother did not waste any time in beginning to criticize me at dinner, but at least she was playing right into my hands as she continued. "It was so charitable of them to invite an unmarried woman of your age to tea last week-- your status and your temperament can be such a hindrance when trying to create a fashionable party, as well I know. And you did not even deign to respond or attend!"

"You are quite right, Godmother." I interrupted, before she could go on about how un-conducive my interests are to pleasant conversation. "Mrs. Fenton is a much more diverting conversationalist than I'd given her credit for! She had the most interesting stories from her recent visit to Ireland." Godmother stiffened at that. "She and her daughters traveled with her aunt and uncle to ---- County. Are you familiar?" 

Godmother of course began to change the subject, but I charged on. 

"Apparently the local lord is a bit of a rake, a gamester, and there are many rumors as to his involvement in criminal activities in Dublin and London." Well, Godmother's eyes fairly bugged out of her head at that. She successfully turned the conversation to the price and quality of beef in the countryside being superior to that in London, but I had already seen enough. 

Her weakness-- I realize she has many, but this is the pertinent one-- is her son from a previous marriage to an Irish lord named Robert Moriarty, hereafter called Lord Reichenbach. She has never so much as mentioned her son, James Moriarty, to any of us. It is quite easy to see what happened to the hapless former Lord Reichenbach merely by looking at the public records, but I made some inquiries through my connections at Scotland Yard to be sure.

I am certain, given the circumstances of Robert Moriarty’s death, and other incidents from his son’s criminal career, that my Godmother has raised a monster to rival my own perverse natures. Thus, James Moriarty must have been what drove my Godmother from Ireland in the first place. Were he to be introduced to our small and stagnant social circle here at Heatherfields, my hope is that the resulting scandalous powder-keg would drive our family to London permanently.

I believe it is time I met my step-brother.

* * *

Dearest Boo,

My scheme may have been too successful. The man himself arrived at Heatherfields just this morning and he is greater than I could have hoped. I watched from the stairs as James Moriarty arrived with only one suitcase and his valet, Moran. The single suitcase, and the wear of the expensive leather on its rear right corners, describes a gentleman who prefers train travel to carriages-- trains are discreet, anonymous and offer opportunities for clandestine meetings and parcel passing. It also indicated that he did not plan to stay at Heatherfields long; in fact, I surmise that this visit is merely a stopping point on his way to Manchester. Well, even a short visit will be enough to get Mrs. Fenton's tongue wagging, every aspect of the man has already proven himself to be quite unsuitable for this country social circle. 

While Mr. Moriarty has a valet, as befits a gentleman, neither Mr. Moriarty or Mr. Moran did much else to earn the title. Mr. Moran is a murine individual, who's rodent-like mien had my Godmother immediately whispering to the maids to lock up our silver. After a brief conversation with my father in his study, my step-brother and valet went up to his rooms to rest and I surreptitiously approached my father to observe his reaction. Father knew what I was about immediately and was not impressed with me. He was a bit impressed with Mr. Moriarty, in some way, but all he would say was, "He is....exactly what I imagine you hoped for, my dear child." 

Dinner will be an uncharacteristically small affair, Claire and her stupid husband were invited to round out our numbers, which clearly indicated Godmother had no wish to invite any of her local friends to meet her son. I will write again afterwards

* * *

Dear Boo,

Well, dinner was uneventful until it absolutely was not. Claire and her husband, Mr. Martindale, are not the sort of dinner guests that can carry an awkward family dinner. They are more like inert gases. Thus the conversation was quite stagnant, until Mr. Moriarty spoke. 

After refusing to do more than drink whiskey, my step-brother finally replied to my sister's inquiry as to the nature of his visit. 

"I could not resist." Mr. Moriarty said. "I was so curious about the invitation. I knew it could not have been the work of my mother, who did not even invite me to her latest wedding." Although I was doing my usual shy unmarried woman act, I was thrilled at the way he hissed the word 'wedding'-- it was so the way I wished to pronounce that odious word. No offense to your own blessed union, which I tolerated only because I know your marriage makes you happy, even as it stole you from my side. And because your husband, the kind doctor, allows you leave to continue our work in London. Oh, I cannot wait to return to the city.

To that end, I owned up to my role in Mr. Moriarty's invitation to Heatherfields, telling him, "I was so eager to meet my mysterious step-brother." My Godmother took her eyes off of her son's unruly chestnut hair-- he had barely combed it, what was his valet about-- to glare at me. But her son did not even deign to look in my direction when he answered.

"I am not so mysterious, madam. The only mystery is why you've invited me to stay. Although I do not mind, this is a lovely estate. Perhaps I will add it to my collection." Moriarty said.

"James!" Godmother exclaimed, affronted-- to her credit-- for my father, who merely looked confused. It was singular for anyone (other than me) to act like this at a family dinner. 

"The whole estate is entailed to our intolerably stupid cousin." I interjected, Claire nodded in agreement. I dropped the maidenly act altogether. "Feel free to steal it from him, he is quite a bore." 

Mr. Moriarty then, turned his eyes upon my person, as if seeing me for the first time. "Is that what it is then? A woman in decline reaching out desperately to any connection in the wake of her recent scandals?" He was somehow lascivious in his rudeness, Boo. But worse, it was the most boring conclusion he could have come to. I cannot be surprised that my Godmother's son would have such a dim view of our sex. I shrugged, and I do not think my boredom escaped his notice when he'd been expecting me to go into hysterics at the affront, a reaction more in line with his mother's. And so he pressed on, "This is a last-ditch effort, of course, what could become of you, with your small dowry, your--" 

"My original plan, sir, was to live on the lands in a cottage illegally. " I interrupted, swirling my wine about. "Our foolish cousin is the easily-confounded sort who would not notice an old witch squatting at the edge of the woods." Moriarty stopped his own line of speech then.

"You think your cousin would not notice a crazy woman living in his woods? I keep close eye on all the happenings on my lands, especially any mysterious cottages that crop up on the edges." He asked, honestly wanting to know.

"Well, it's more that he would pretend I didn't exist after I'd shot at him and anyone else who tried to approach a few times." I further explained. Moriarty's mouth twitched, so I continued. "But it makes no matter, as after a month in the countryside I find that I miss the city desperately. And so I have resolved to return to the city to found a brothel." 

"Young lady!" Godmother cried finally, thoroughly scandalized. But her son laughed out loud like a thunderclap and agreed that the city had much to recommend itself. And while he did not look at me warmly for the rest of dinner, he did not stop looking at me, which I may have found a bit more gratifying than I would like to admit.


End file.
